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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982565">Jamie, Come Try Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClanDonnachaidh/pseuds/ClanDonnachaidh'>ClanDonnachaidh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outlander &amp; Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Absolutely no plot whatsoever, F/M, Friends to Lovers, barely any character development, burns' night fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:02:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClanDonnachaidh/pseuds/ClanDonnachaidh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roommates Jamie and Claire have Burns' Supper together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Jamie, Come Try Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If there was one thing that Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp was <em>not</em> known for, it was any semblance of culinary prowess.</p>
<p>She could boil an egg and make an okay pot of vegetable soup but the first time she’d made a cheese toastie for her roommate, Jamie had spluttered as he swallowed, eyes streaming and cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red as he looked at her in disbelief.</p>
<p>“If ye wanted tae kill me, Sassenach, I’d thank ye tae make it quicker than death by mustard!”</p>
<p>Claire’s brow had furrowed and once he got his breath back, Jamie explained that english mustard was definitely not a substitute for wholegrain mustard, the two being vastly different in their spice levels. Trying not to laugh, Claire asked if he would appreciate if she did the dishes for the rest of their time together and left him well alone to deal with the cooking. He had gladly agreed.</p>
<p>But tonight, Jamie was running late. He’d had a drinks thing at work that went on a bit longer than it should have but he’d just texted Claire to let her know that he would be leaving soon. She tried to not think about the excited bubbling that occurred in the pit of her stomach that happened every time she thought of the sight of him coming through the door, into their home. Well, not exactly <em>their home</em> but the flat they shared, at the very least.</p>
<p>Winding an escaped curl back into the folds of her messy bun, she worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she sized up the large root vegetable in front of her. She hadn’t really eaten much swede until she moved to Scotland and even then, it was a rare occurrence. But with Jamie running behind schedule, she would have to try and tame the beast herself. The sharpest knife in the kitchen was being wielded by her dominant hand as she sized it up with her eyes.</p>
<p>“Come on, Beauchamp, it’s organic matter. You’re a surgeon, for fucks sake.”</p>
<p>With a steadying hand, she brought the shining blade down to rest against the tough skin and exerted pressure.</p>
<p>Nothing happened.</p>
<p>She tried again, reaching up on her tiptoes to try and bear down with her body weight onto the spherical vegetable which seemed to be made of iron in that moment.</p>
<p>Until, as what usually happens with spheres, the offending swede began to roll just as she pushed with all her might.</p>
<p>“Christ, Claire!”</p>
<p>Jamie’s voice roared behind her as one of his large forearms quickly encompassed her waist, making light work of pulling her away from the worktop and from the knife that had fallen from her hand to land directly where her cashmere sock clad toes had just been.</p>
<p>Time seemed to stop, as it did whenever he touched her. Claire let her eyes close slightly and revelled in the sensation of having him hold her so tightly, his broad chest covering the expanse of her back and shoulders. If the pair had been face to face, Claire would have been able to see a similar look of blissful happiness on Jamie’s face, even obscured by her riotous curls. The feeling of her round arse pressing against the front of his jeans had him quickly releasing her before his body reacted and resulted in a very awkward conversation.</p>
<p>No time to gather her wits about her, Claire spun on her heel, unable to stop the beatific smile from spreading across her face the minute she caught a glimpse of him. Jamie, however, was not smiling.</p>
<p>“Ye dafty! Ye could’ve really hurt yerself, I’m amazed ye’ve still got all yer fingers after a stunt like that!” he chastised.</p>
<p>“Oh, pull the other one,” she batted her hand at him dismissively, earning herself an unimpressed grunt. “I didn’t hear you come in.”</p>
<p>“Nae a surprise wi’ all this noise,” he wrinkled his face in disgust at her music of choice, the heavy guitars and harsh vocals of her favourite band blasting through the speakers.</p>
<p>“<em>The best way to scare a Tory is to read and get rich</em>.”</p>
<p>“I know you like this one so don’t try to say that you don’t. Anyway, listen to what you want, I’m away to shower and when I come back, you will have dealt with the monster swede of perpetual toughness.”</p>
<p>Jamie smirked at her attempt at humour, reaching into his briefcase and producing what looked like an implement for ridding someone of their fingertips.</p>
<p>“Just as weel I went in past Jenny’s and got her spare one of these,” he said, brandishing the cutter with a crinkled blade. “I’ll see tae the neep and when ye come back, there’ll be a dram waiting for ye.”</p>
<p>Even though she had never seen the thing before in her life, she trusted that Jamie knew what he was doing and took herself away into their shared bathroom, eager to let the hot water wash away all the stress and pent up frustration that seemed to be a constant tenant in her life at the moment.</p>
<p>By the time she returned, the balls of her bare feet padding softly against the wooden flooring, Jamie had set the table and had a drink waiting for her as promised.</p>
<p>She blushed as he pulled out her chair for her, completely unaware of Jamie’s chest tightening at he caught the scene of her almond and honey body cream that was so synonymous with her.</p>
<p>“Can ye be arsed wi’ the Address?” he asked as he sat down across from her, a look on his face that said ‘<em>please don’t make me find it online and read the whole thing</em>’.</p>
<p>“We’re hungry, let’s just eat,” she conceded as she picked up her fork. Jamie’s look of incredulity stopped her in her tracks.</p>
<p>“We hae tae say something! ’Tis the Bard’s birthday, afterall.”</p>
<p>Gravity made light work of bringing her fork back down onto the table with a clatter and Jamie looked appeased enough. Claire crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, hoping that whatever he was going to say would be quick.</p>
<p>“The Selkirk Grace, then.”</p>
<p>He got to his feet, his father’s knife held above the haggis. It was a beautiful thing, the handle made of a deer antler and weathered by age and use. Claire had always been jealous of the little trinkets that had slowly filled their flat over the months, all things that Jamie would keep as momentos of his lost family; his mother’s old recipe books, his father’s suitcase of knives for carving, the small wooden snake that his brother Willie had whittled for him. Claire knew that he held these items with a reverence and a solemn respect for their original owners. It was his way of honouring their memory.</p>
<p>“<em>Some hae meat and canna eat, and some wad eat that want it. But we hae meat, and we can eat, and sae let the Lord be thankit</em>.”</p>
<p>With a flourish, the knife pierced the haggis and steam poured from it, the smell filling the air. Claire smiled at her flatmate with a pride that she thought she didn’t deserve to feel. He wasn’t hers to be proud of. Not in the way that she wanted anyway.</p>
<p>She let herself watch him as he dished up her plate, giving her healthy helpings of everything whilst also reminding her not to get so full that she wouldn’t manage her cranachan afterwards. With a heaping amount of whisky sauce, they both set to dig in, toasting each other and the legacy of Robert Burns.</p>
<p>“Slainte mhath!”</p>
<p>Two hours later, the pair were curled on the couch, bellies fit to burst. Jamie had set the fire, a trick Claire still hadn’t seemed to master, and put on a playlist of Scottish folk music to finish the evening. They had eaten their fair share of haggis, neeps and tatties, Claire announcing that she had never been so full in her life. But at the mere mention of the cranachan, oats and raspberries with cream whipped with whisky and honey, she had somehow found room in her stomach for ‘just a little bite’. Coffees had been finished, both with a further delicious glug of the good stuff, and then a further measure for good health. All previous pretence about having just the one drink had gone well and truly out the window even though neither of the two were willing to admit that they were good and drunk.</p>
<p>They were nesting on the sofa, two blankets bunched up on their bodies. Even covered by the thick blanket of Fraser tartan and the heat coming from the fire, Claire still grinned mischievously as she buried her freezing cold toes towards their destination - Jamie’s ribs.</p>
<p>“Ifrinn!” he squealed, very undignified as his face burst with surprise. “What hiv ye got under there, blocks of ice?!”</p>
<p>Claire simply laughed victoriously and delighted in the feeling of her previously chilly extremities that were fast becoming toasty warm thanks to her ever-boiling hot roommate.</p>
<p>“Honestly, lass, any more of this torture and I’ll have tae find somewhere else tae live.”</p>
<p>Even though she knew he was joking, it hit her like a brick wall. Claire couldn’t seem to find the right words, no witty retort or sarcastic sentiment. Jamie looked her out of the corner of his eye, worried by her silence.</p>
<p>“I’m only joking, Sassenach. Yer nae gettin’ rid of me that easily.”</p>
<p>Maybe it was the whisky or maybe he was just tired of fighting what seemed so natural for him to do but before she could realise what he was doing, Jamie reached out and gently touched her hair. This wasn’t unusual in the slightest, the two of them always seemed to find ways to offer each other physical reassurance when it felt appropriate. But right now, it felt more than appropriate - it felt <em>right</em>.</p>
<p>Claire hadn’t noticed that she was holding her breath until, without breaking eye contact, Jamie’s fingers moved from the mess of her hair onto her cheek. She knew that he would probably feel the heat that was now burning through her body, an intense level of desire that she had never felt before.</p>
<p>When the next song on the playlist started, Jamie swiped the pad of his thumb softly over Claire’s plump bottom lip. Eddi Reader’s voice filled the room with song and unspoken truths.</p>
<p>“<em>If thou would kiss me, love<br/>
Wha could deny thee?<br/>
If thou would be thy love<br/>
Jamie</em>.”</p>
<p>“Claire-“ Jamie whispered as he moved towards her, his eyes trained on the place where his thumb had just been. Whatever he was going to say, he didn’t manage to finish. He was interrupted by all of the air leaving Claire’s body in a huge sigh of relief.</p>
<p>“Kiss me, Jamie.”</p>
<p>And he did.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was tasked with writing something in the space of an hour as a sort of exercise and I don't hate it so I'm posting it. I cannot stress enough how quickly this was written, has not been edited, beta'd, anything like that. All mistakes are unintentional so please don't delight in pointing them out. This was just something that appeared in my head this afternoon while prepping our Burns' dinner for tonight and listening to Eddi Reader sing her version of the Robert Burns poem that this oneshot takes its name from. Anyway, happy Burns' Night! Slainte mhath!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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